A Night Out with Burns (9 page)
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Authors: Robert Burns
B
urns had the guts to speak of the ways that religion may show itself to be blinded and drowned in a sea of unreason, but all the same he sought heaven for an anchor. I always think of the prime minister, Gordon Brown, when I read the following poem (âMay Prudence, Fortitude and Truth/Erect your brow undaunting!'), but since the poem is addressed explicitly to âAndrew', I grew up thinking it must be meant for me. It is heartening to think that Burns is not above a little Polonius-like hypocrisy, and some of us, in our youth, may have found that perfectly congenial.
I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend,
A Something to have sent you,
Tho' it should serve nae other end
Than just a kind memento;
But how the subject theme may gang,
Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps it may turn out a Sang;
Perhaps, turn out a Sermon.
Ye'll try the world soon my lad,
And A
NDREW
dear believe me,
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad,
And muckle they may grieve ye:
For care and trouble set your thought,
Ev'n when your end's attained;
And a' your views may come to nought,
Where ev'ry nerve is strained.
I'll no say, men are villains a';
The real, harden'd wicked,
Wha hae nae check but
human law
,
Are to a few restricked:
But Och, mankind are unco weak,
An' little to be trusted;
If
Self
the wavering balance shake,
It's rarely right adjusted!
Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife,
Their fate we should na censure,
For still th'
important
end
of life,
They equally may answer:
A man may hae an
honest
heart
,
Tho' Poortith hourly stare him;
A man may tak a neebor's part,
Yet hae nae
cash
to spare him.
Ay free, aff han', your story tell,
When wi' a bosom crony;
But still keep something to yoursel
Ye scarcely tell to ony.
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can
Frae critical dissection;
But keek thro' ev'ry other man,
Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection.
The
sacred lowe
o' weel plac'd love,
Luxuriantly indulge it;
But never tempt th'
illicit rove
,
Tho' naething should divulge it:
I wave the quantum o' the sin;
The hazard of concealing;
But Och! it hardens
a' within
,
And petrifies the feeling!
To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile,
Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by ev'ry wile,
That's justify'd by Honor:
Not for to
hide
it in a
hedge
,
Nor for a
train-attendant
;
But for the glorious privilege
Of being
independent
.
The
fear o' Hell
's a hangman's whip,
To haud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your
Honor
grip,
Let that ay be your border:
Its slightest touches, instant pauseâ
Debar a' side-pretences;
And resolutely keep its laws,
Uncaring consequences.
The great C
REATOR
to revere,
Must sure become the
Creature
;
But still the preaching cant forbear,
And ev'n the rigid feature:
Yet ne'er with Wits prophane to range,
Be complaisance extended;
An
atheist-laugh
's a poor exchange
For
Deity offended
!
When ranting round in Pleasure's ring,
Religion may be blinded;
Or if she gie a
random-fling
,
It may be little minded;
But when on Life we're tempest-driven,
A Conscience but a cankerâ
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n,
Is sure a noble
anchor
!
Adieu, dear, amiable Youth!
Your
heart
can ne'er be wanting!
May Prudence, Fortitude and Truth
Erect your brow undaunting!
In
ploughman phrase
, âG
OD
send you speed,'
Still daily to grow wiser;
And may ye better reck the
rede
,
Then ever did th'
Adviser
!
T
he great night for me in Ayrshire was never Christmas Eve or midsummer, but Halloween, when some sort of folk essence seemed to cling to the cold air. I loved the gathering of nuts and apples door to door, the occasional coins and sweets, while news of immortal bogles and witches travelled abroad in the streets and parks. My mother was very gifted at making costumes, and two of our neighbours, Hazel and Sandy Copeland, who came from the Highlands, threw everything they had into Halloween. At their house we âdooked' for apples in basins of water and covered our faces in treacle as we tried to take bites from dripping scones that hung on strings from the ceiling. There was always a sense of the warm, excited interior and the frozen world outside, resplendent that night with its dark certainties about the life after death.
The following Poem will, by many Readers, be well enough understood; but, for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, Notes are added, to give some account of the principal Charms and Spells of that Night, so big with Prophecy to the Peasantry in the West of Scotland. The passion of prying into Futurity makes a striking part of the history of Humanânature, in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such should honor the Author with a perusal, to see the remains of it, among the more unenlightened in our own.
1
Yes! let the Rich deride, the Proud disdain,
The simple pleasures of the lowly train;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art
.
Goldsmith
Upon that
night
, when Fairies light,
On
Cassilis
Downans
2
dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursers prance;
Or for
Colean
, the rout is taen,
Beneath the moon's pale beams;
There, up the
Cove
,
3
to stray an' rove,
Amang the rocks an' streams
To sport that night.
Amang the bonie, winding banks,
Where
Doon
rins, wimplin, clear,
Where B
RUCE
4
ance rul'd the martial ranks,
An' shook his
Carrick
spear,
Some merry, friendly, countra folks,
Together did convene,
To
burn
their nits, an'
pou
their stocks,
An' haud their
Halloween
Fu' blythe that night.
The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat,
Mair braw than when they're fine;
Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe,
Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin':
The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs,
Weel knotted on their garten,
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs,
Gar lasses hearts gang startin
Whyles fast at night.
Then, first an' foremost, thro' the kail,
Their
stocks
5
maun a' be sought ance;
They steek their een, an' grape an' wale,
For muckle anes, an' straught anes.
Poor hav'rel
Will
fell aff the drift,
An' wander'd thro' the
Bow-kail
,
An' pow't, for want o' better shift,
A
runt
was like a sow-tail
Sae bow't that night.
Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,
They roar an' cry a' throw'ther;
The vera
wee-things
, toddlan, rin,
Wi' stocks out owre their shouther:
An' gif the
custock
's sweet or sour,
Wi' joctelegs they taste them;
Syne coziely, aboon the door,
Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them
To lye that night.
The lasses staw frae 'mang them a',
To pou their
stalks o' corn
;
6
But
Rab
slips out, an' jinks about,
Behint the muckle thorn:
He grippet
Nelly
hard an' fast;
Loud skirl'd a' the lasses;
But her
tap-pickle
maist was lost,
Whan kiutlan in the
Fause-house
7
Wi' him that night.
The auld Guidwife's weel-hoordet
nits
8
Are round an' round divided,
An' monie lads an' lasses fates
Are there that night decided:
Some kindle, couthie, side by side,
An'
burn
thegither trimly;
Some start awa, wi' saucy pride,
An' jump out owre the chimlie
Fu' high that night.
Jean
slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e;
Wha 'twas, she wadna tell;
But this is
Jock
, an' this is
me
,
She says in to hersel:
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him,
As they wad never mair part,
Till fuff! he started up the lum,
An'
Jean
had e'en a sair heart
To see't that night.
Poor
Willie
, wi' his
bow-kail runt
,
Was
brunt
wi' primsie
Mallie
;
An'
Mary
, nae doubt, took the drunt,
To be compar'd to
Willie
:
Mall
's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling,
An' her ain fit, it brunt it;
While
Willie
lap, an' swoor by
jing
,
'Twas just the way he wanted
To be that night.
Nell had the
Fause-house
in her min',
She pits hersel an'
Rob
in;
In loving bleeze they sweetly join,
Till white in ase they're sobbin:
Nell
's heart was dancin at the view;
She whisper'd
Rob
to leuk for't;
Rob
, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mou,
Fu' cozie in the neuk for't,
Unseen that night.
But
Merran
sat behint their backs,
Her thoughts on
Andrew Bell
;
She lea'es them gashan at their cracks,
An' slips out by hersel:
She thro' the yard the nearest taks,
An' for the
kiln
she goes then,
An' darklins grapet for the
bauks
,
And in the
blue-clue
9
throws then,
Right fear't that night.
An' ay she
win't
, an' ay she swat,
I wat she made nae jaukin;
Till something
held
within the
pat
,
Good Lord! but she was quaukin!
But whether 'twas the
Deil
himsel,
Or whether 'twas a
bauk-en
',
Or whether it was
Andrew Bell
,
She did na wait on talkin
To spier that night.
Wee Jenny to her Graunie says,
âWill ye go wi' me Graunie?
I'll
eat the apple
at the
glass
,
10
I gat frae uncle Johnie:'
She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,
In wrath she was sae vap'rin,
She notic't na, an aizle brunt
Her braw, new, worset apron
Out thro' that night.
âYe little Skelpie-limmer's-face!
I daur you try sic sportin,
As seek the
foul Thief
onie place,
For him to spae your fortune:
Nae doubt but ye may get a
sight
!
Great cause ye hae to fear it;
For monie a ane has gotten a fright,
An' liv'd an' di'd deleeret,
On sic a night.
âAe Hairst afore the
Sherra-moor
,
I mind't as weel's yestreen,
I was a gilpey then, I'm sure,
I was na past fyfteen:
The Simmer had been cauld an' wat,
An'
Stuff
was unco green;
An' ay a rantan
Kirn
we gat,
An' just on
Halloween
It fell that night.
âOur
Stibble-rig
was
Rab MâGraen
,
A clever, sturdy fallow;
His Sin gat
Eppie Sim
wi' wean,
That liv'd in Achmacalla:
He gat
hemp-seed
,
11
I mind it weel,
An' he made unco light o't;
But monie a day was
by himsel
,
He was sae sairly frighted
That vera night.'
Then up gat fechtan
Jamie
Fleck,
An' he swoor by his conscience,
That he could
saw hemp-seed
a peck;
For it was a' but nonsense:
The auld guidman raught down the pock,
An' out a handfu' gied him;
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk,
Sometime when nae ane see'd him,
An' try't that night.
He marches thro' amang the stacks,
Tho' he was something sturtan;
The
graip
he for a
harrow
taks,
An' haurls at his curpan:
And ev'ry now an' then, he says,
âHemp-seed I saw thee,
An' her that is to be my lass,
Come after me an' draw thee
As fast this night.'
He whistl'd up
Lord Lenox' march
,
To keep his courage cheary;
Altho' his hair began to arch,
He was sae fley'd an' eerie:
Till presently he hears a squeak,
An' then a grane an' gruntle;
He by his showther gae a keek,
An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle
Out owre that night.
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu' desperation!
An' young an' auld come rinnan out,
An' hear the sad narration:
He swoor 'twas hilchan
Jean MâCraw
,
Or crouchie
Merran Humphie
,
Till stop! she trotted thro' them a';
An' wha was it but
Grumphie
Asteer that night?
Meg
fain wad to the
Barn
gaen,
To
winn three wechts o
'
naething
;
12
But for to meet the Deil her lane,
She pat but little faith in:
She gies the Herd a pickle nits,
An' twa red cheeket apples,
To watch, while for the
Barn
she sets,
In hopes to see
Tam Kipples
That vera night.
She turns the key, wi' cannie thraw,
An' owre the threshold ventures;
But first on
Sawnie
gies a ca',
Syne bauldly in she enters:
A
ratton
rattl'd up the wa',
An' she cry'd, Lord preserve her!
An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a',
An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour,
Fu' fast that night.
They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice;
They hecht him some fine braw ane;
It chanc'd the
Stack
he
faddom't thrice
,
13
Was timmer-propt for thrawin:
He taks a swirlie, auld
moss-oak
,
For some black, grousome
Carlin
;
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke,
Till skin in blypes cam haurlin
Aff's nieves that night.
A wanton widow
Leezie
was,
As cantie as a kittlen;
But Och! that night, amang the shaws,
She gat a fearfu' settlin!
She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn,
An' owre the hill gaed scrievin,
Whare
three Lairds' lan's met at a burn
,
14
To dip her
left sark-sleeve
in,
Was bent that night.
Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As thro' the glen it wimpl't;
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays;
Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't;
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays,
Wi' bickerin, dancin dazzle;
Whyles cooket underneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazle
Unseen that night.
Amang the brachens, on the brae,
Between her an' the moon,
The Deil, or else an outler Quey,
Gat up an' gae a croon:
Poor
Leezie
's heart maist lap the hool;
Near lav'rock-height she jumpet,
But mist a fit, an' in the
pool
,
Out owre the lugs she plumpet,
Wi' a plunge that night.
In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The
Luggies
15
three are ranged;
And ev'ry time great care is taen,
To see them duely changed:
Auld, uncle
John
, wha
wedlock's joys
,
Sin'
Mar's-year
did desire,
Because he gat the toom dish thrice,
He heav'd them on the fire,
In wrath that night.
Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks,
I wat they did na weary;
And unco tales, an' funnie jokes,
Their sports were cheap an' cheary:
Till
buttr'd So'ns
,
16
wi' fragrant lunt,
Set a' their gabs a steerin;
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,
They parted aff careerin
Fu' blythe that night.
